Break A Leg
by moseph
Summary: [One shot - happy birthday Chelsea] "Well...it’s been a while since I was in a play. Maybe I’ve overcome my clumsiness," I say, standing up and tripping over my chair leg. Mush just shakes his head. "It’s just too easy."


Yay, another birthday one shot! I am on a _roll_. It seems like every time I write one, I get a request for another. Actually...that _is_ what happened. Well, I don't mind. I like writing birthday fics. And since I'm already getting one for my birthday, and a me-Davey scene in someone else's fic (thank you, LegallyRed and XBeLLaViTaX!), I really don't mind putting all this work into them. Really, birthday one shots are pretty gosh darn fun.

Anyway, this one is for my dear friend Chelsea, pen name StormShadow21, who was one of the first people to review for me and has since reviewed pretty much everything I've written. I wuv you, Chelz! Her birthday is on the 23rd, but I finished this early, so early post! Yay!

As she requested, it's a Skittery ficlet, another first for me! I wrote a lot of this during classes (hey! It's somewhat educational! I'm sharpening my writing skills!), so I hope y'all appreciate it. Originally, I had this whole other plot thing going on, but then it went in another direction and it was like there were two different stories, so I did a big rewrite and now it looks like this. I guess I'll use my other plot if anyone else requests a birthday fic.

Oh! Before we begin...

A one, two, three!

**Skittery: **Happy birthday to you!

**Newsies: **Cha cha cha!

**Skittery: **Happy birthday to you!

**Newsies: **Cha cha cha!

**Skittery: **Happy birthday, dear Chelsea!

**Snipeshooter: **Cha cha - oops.

**Skittery: **Happy birthday to you!

**Newsies: **Cha cha cha!

**Skittery: **((snapping)) Just play it cool, boy! Reeeaaaaal coooool! Yeah!

**Jack: **Moseph! No more listenin' tah West Side Story while you'se writin' fics! It don't end good!

Boy! Boy! Crazy boy! Get cool, boy! Got a rocket in your pocket! Keep coolly cool boy!

* * *

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Mush mutters, sinking further into his seat. I hit him over the head with the program.

"Don't say that! You might enjoy it!" I scold. Mush rolls his eyes at me and twists his program in his hands.

"I hate musical theatre," he says. "I hate John Travolta. I hate _Grease_."

"Well, you're in luck. John Travolta won't be appearing in this production!" I exclaim sarcastically. "Come on, it'll be fun! And besides, you need to review a performance for your music class."

"Couldn't I just have gone to see the brass band with the rest of the class?" he mutters, indignant.

"No, because you're original, and you've got me for a friend." The lights begin to dim as a voice booms over the sound system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening's performance of _Grease_. Please take this time to turn off all cell phones and pagers. Also, please refrain from using video cameras and flash photography. Thank you, enjoy the show." The lights turn down all the way and the first notes of the overture drift through the theatre.

As the overture dies down, the curtain swings open to show a couple, teenagers, clinging together. It's familiar, obviously, since I've seen _Grease_ about thirty five times, along with every other teenage girl in North America.

Of course, it is slightly different. It's not John Travolta and Olivia Newton John, and it's not taking place on a beach.

Also, the guy playing Danny is super hot.

"Danny, is this the end?" the girl asks dramatically, throwing herself onto the boy's chest.

"Of course not," he assures her, tilting her chin up with his hand. "It's only the beginning."

* * *

"Well, that was the worst two hours I've ever spent since my mother made me watch West Side Story with her," Mush says, standing and stretching. I just shake my head at him.

"You are the most close minded person I've ever met when it comes to entertainment. If it's not by AC/DC, you just don't care." Mush nods his head in agreement.

"They were the best band of all time," he says, with that reminiscent look in his eye, even though he wasn't alive during the height of their popularity.

"Yes, but not the only one," I remind him. As we file out with the rest of the audience, Mush notes the ice cream vendor outside and perks up, fumbling in his pockets for change. He rushes off in pursuit of creamy, nutty, vanilla goodness, while I look around the lobby of the theatre.

"Hey Chelsea!" a voice squeals behind me. I turn around to see a very short, very perky girl standing behind me.

"Hey Frankie!" I exclaim, embracing the petite girl. Francis, or Frankie, as we all call her (though I was pushing for Baby), is a friend of mine from my short lived days as a camp counsellor. At seventeen, she remains five foot one and the tiniest, cutest teenager I have ever met.

"I'm surprised to see you here," she says, once I've stopped squeezing the life out of her. "I thought you weren't into the whole theatre scene."

"I like seeing musicals, I just don't like being in them," I say. "I dragged Mush here. He has to do a concert review for music class and I insisted he come here. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, my friend was one of the leads," she says, waving a vague hand.

"Really? Who?" I ask, mildly impressed.

"Danny," she says, looking in the direction of the backstage entrance, from which the actors will burst forth any minute now.

"Seriously? Tousled hair? Great singing voice? All around gorgeous?"

"That's Skittery," she says, giggling. "Oh, here he comes!" I can see a brown head, surrounded by people, most likely his family. Frankie dives into the crowd, weaving her way through bodies. I wish I was her size: I seem to be bowling people down every which way.

"Sorry!" I call over my shoulder, after I cause someone to spill coffee all over their shirt.

"Skittery!" Frankie exclaims, having reached the epicentre of the crush. "You were fantastic!"

"Hey Frankie! I'm so glad you came!" he says enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around her. I float around her wordlessly, hoping to be introduced and, perhaps, get a hug.

"Oh, Skitz, this is my friend Chelsea. She saw the show, too," she says, nudging me with her elbow. I extend a hand.

"You were really good," I say nervously.

"Thanks," Skittery says, shaking my hand and looking me up and down "You look familiar - have you done community theatre before?"

"Oh, no, not me," I quickly say. "I don't act. Or sing. Outside of the shower, that is." Skittery cracks a grin.

"Really? Why not?"

"I'm just not very good," I admit. "I'm not a performer."

"I've been trying for months to get Chelsea to audition, but she just won't give in," Frankie adds. Skittery nods.

"Well, I guess it's not for everyone. Though I think you should give it a try. It's a great experience," he says, putting a brotherly arm around Frankie. "Maybe I'll see you at the next auditions."

"Er, yeah...maybe..." I trail off, as he sees someone else he knows.

"Later, Frankie. Great to meet you, Chelsea." In a flash, he's gone.

"Who was that?" Mush asks, appearing out of nowhere, ice cream cone in hand.

"Uhh...no one. Come on, Mush, let's go find some toursists to terrorize and scar for life."

* * *

"Cause Penny and me like to rooooll the wiiindo-ows down! Turn the radio up, push the pedal to the ground! And Penny and me like to gaaaze at staaaarry-y skies! Close our eyes, pretend to fly! It's always Penny and me tonight!"

"SHUT UP!"

I hate my school. No one here appreciates good culture when they hear it. You just don't _boo_ Hanson.

I sulkily sit down again and crack open my sandwich box. Deeply inhaling the scent of lunchmeat and lettuce, I take a bite.

"Must you burst into song _everywhere_?" Mush shakes his head and stabs his fork into his cafeteria poutine. Mmm...cheesy, gravy-covered fat. That's what teenage hood is all about. "I can't take you anywhere without you finding some reason to 'entertain' people." I pay no attention, simply eye his poutine with big, sad puppy eyes. Mush rolls his eyes and offers me a gravy soaked bite. Happily, I accept. Ahhh, poutine. A gastric bypass in every bowl.

"Since we live in this cultural wasteland," I say, swallowing. "I have taken it upon myself to educate these unfortunates."

"Chelz, this is not Jerusalem and you are not Jesus Christ. They're not suddenly going to discover you and declare you as the Messiah."

"You don't know that. It could happen."

"Unless you can change water into tequila, it ain't gonna happen."

"Well, maybe one of these days, they'll stop throwing things at me."

"Oops, excuse me." A hip bumps my arm as someone walks by. I look up and almost die.

"Oh, hey. I didn't know you go to this school," Skittery says, balancing a lunch tray in one hand. I gape wordlessly at him for a moment before I remember - he's probably expecting me to talk back to him, thus resulting in a conversation.

"Oh...yeah, I...I do. Go here, I mean," I stutter. Skittery nods and gives me an odd look. SAVE YOURSELF, CHELSEA! "So, um...you go here, too," I deftly observe.

"Nah, I just like the food here," he says with a grin. Mush looks like he wants to laugh, but isn't sure if he's supposed to, so he settles for confusion.

"So, er...what are you doing?" I ask brilliantly. I seem to be at a loss for words. He caught me off guard, okay?

"First on my list of priorities is find a place to sit," he says, with that same grin. It's almost kind of impish. What is an imp anyway?... Wait, this is my chance! I can invite him to sit with us and I'll regain my talent for witty banter and we'll fall in love and get married and -

Perhaps I should ask him to sit with us, first.

"Well, if you want, you can -"

"YO! SKITZ! OVER HERE!"

Damn you, random drama freak!

"That's me. I'll see you later," he says to me, inching between the tables and chairs to get to Random Drama Freak's table.

"What was up with that?" Mush asks me.

"What?" I ask distracted, watching Skittery sit with the other drama freaks.

"How do you know Skittery Jones?" he asks. My head snaps back to Mush.

"What? How do _you_ know him?"

"He's in my English class. OW!" Mush recoils from being punched in the arm. "What was that for?"

"Why didn't you tell me he was in your class?"

"I just did," Mush says, bewildered.

"No, why didn't you tell me _before_?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I was supposed to give you a detailed description of every person in each of my classes," Mush says, rolling his eyes. "What's the big deal? It's just Skittery."

"Okay, first of all, _just_? Have you _seen_ him? He is not a _just_. Secondly," I make a vague gesture in his direction. "I met him at the play last weekend."

"Really? I thought I was the only one in the entire theatre with half an ounce of testosterone. OW! Stop punching me!"

"Stop deserving it!"

"I need a little more explanation than 'I met him at the play last weekend'."

"He was performing."

"Still some explanation needed."

"He played Danny. He's friends with Frankie."

"Aw, Frankie! I miss that kid! She's so cute!"

"Anyway, we can use this to our advantage. You can talk to Skittery and find out some stuff about him and, most importantly, if he has a girlfriend," I tell him. Mush sighs.

"I hate being a part of your sexual plots," he mutters.

"Hey, not sexual. Romantic," I insist.

"Yes, because all of this just spells amour," Mush says sarcastically.

"Shut up. Anyway, what do you know about him?" Mush thinks for a moment, a rare occurrence.

"Weelll...he's really into drama. He hangs out with the drama freaks mostly. Oh! I know he's auditioning for the school play."

"We're doing a play?"

"Yeah. It's been on the announcements for weeks."

"No wonder I didn't know about it. Anyway, tell me more. What play is it?" Mush thinks harder.

"Shakespeare, I think," he says. "As It...As I...As You..."

"As You Like It?"

"That's the one."

"Hmm...methinks I have a plan," I say, stroking my chin. Mush gets a panicked look on his face.

"Oh no. Not the plan voice. NOTHING GOOD COMES OF THE PLAN VOICE!" Mush convulses wildly, flailing arms and legs.

"Calm yourself, man!" I say, reaching out a hand to stop him. "Don't worry, it's an _easy_ plan."

"Oh, yes, and what is this "easy" plan?" Mush asks, using air quotes.

"I'll get into the play," I say triumphantly. Mush blinks at me. "What?"

"I think you're forgetting something called 'talent'," he says.

"What? I can act! Sort of," I say, indignant.

"Oh-ho, I beg to differ!" Mush says. "Do you recall the school play debacle of '97?" I suddenly gain an intense interest in my fingernails.

"Uh...not...particularly," I say quietly.

"Oh, well, you're in luck. I do," Mush says with a sinister, satisfied smirk. "Poor Jake Saunders. He hasn't been the same since you misread the stage directions and thought you were supposed to _kick_ him on the cheek."

"At least my pants didn't fall down during the spring concert in seventh grade," I spit back. Mush glows red.

"Hey, that wasn't my fault! Those pants were baggy!"

"Well, you could have chosen some underwear that _didn't_ have little spaceships on them." Mush glares at me and busies himself by scraping up the remains of his poutine.

"Still, you get my point. You're a terrible actress and you have zero charisma on stage," he says.

"Well...it's been a while since I was in a play. Maybe I've overcome my clumsiness," I say, standing up and tripping over my chair leg. Mush just shakes his head.

"It's just too easy."

* * *

"Anyone else need a script?" Ms Grenhem asks, waving the blue books above her head. Students buzz around the room, flipping through their scripts, practising their favoured parts, talking to each other. I sit on one of the huge boxes that they use as set pieces in the drama room, flipping through the script. How am I going to memorize all this if I get in?

"All right, now that everyone has signed up," Ms Grenhem shouts above us. "I'll call out the names and you'll tell me which part you're planning on reading for. Catherine Aspers!"

"Rosalind."

"Chuck Bartlew!"

"Orlando."

As Ms Grenhem continues down the list, I notice that most of the people are reading for Rosalind and Orlando. I flip through the script (I have time, I'm near the end) and note that they appear to be the romantic leads.

"Daniel Jones!"

"Orlando. Naturally, Ms Grenhem," he replies charmingly. The slim drama teacher smiles and pauses before continuing down the list. Skittery is her favourite, given the fact that, as Mush has informed me, he's been in every play since he entered high school.

"Chelsea! For the third time, please tell me what part you'll be reading!"

"Rosalind!" I blurt out before I can think. She nods and continues reading.

Okay, this was not my plan. My plan was to audition for a small role and get a chance to talk to Skittery. Not embarrass myself by auditioning for the biggest female part. I mean, Skittery will probably get his part, and it would be great to be his lover. But what is the likeliness of that? Mush was right: I'm a horrible actress. Well, at least I was in '97.

"All right, well, the auditions can begin! We'll start with Chelsea and Dan!" Ms Grenhem shouts cheerfully. The rest of the people shuffle out of the room, leaving me and Skittery standing in front of Ms Grenhem's director chair. She has a seat and thumbs through her script.

"Okay, you two, how about Act Four, Scene Two. We'll start with your line, Dan, 'I would not have my right Rosalind...' Bottom of the page. Whenever you're ready." Skittery takes a deep breath and plunges into his lines.

"I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me," he says. I look at my line. It makes no sense to me. Come on, Chelz. You can do this. Just imagine that you're singing Hanson and you'll be fine.

"By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more on-coming - coming on, sorry - disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it."

I did it! I only messed up once! It was convincing! Go me!

"Then love me, Rosalind." I ALREADY DO!

As we continue to audition, my eyes stray from the script to Skittery. He looks really into it.

"I will," Skittery says and, at that moment, he looks up at me, into my eyes, and takes my hand. I'm taken aback until I remember: we're supposed to be getting married. Why didn't I get into acting before? The benefits are huge!

"Ay, but when?"

"Why now; as fast as she can marry us."

"Then you must say, 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife."

"I take thee, Rosalind, for wife." _Sigh_. Now replace 'Rosalind' with 'Chelsea' and life will be perfect.

"That's fine, guys, thanks a lot," Ms Grenhem says, closing her script. "Can you send in Beth and Karen?" Skittery nods dutifully.

"Thank you, Ms Grenhem. I'll see you tomorrow in class," he says, saluting her with his script and walking out the door. I follow him silently and pass off my script to Karen. "So, I was surprised to see you here," Skittery says to me, handing his script to Beth. "I thought you didn't do drama."

"Well, uh, I love Shakespeare," I lie quickly. Nice lie - except I know nothing about Shakespeare.

"Really? What's your favourite sonnet?" he asks. Shit. Okay, think hard, Chelz.

"Well, it's hard to choose..." Oh! They're numbered! Pick a random number! "But I'd have to say...forty...three?"

"Interesting choice," Skittery says with a contemplative nod. "Well, best of luck. I hope you get the part."

"Oh, yeah, you too." I barely get the words out before Skittery turns and walks away.

* * *

Needless to say, Skittery got the male lead.

Needless to say, I did not get the female lead.

I did, however, get the position of assistant stage manager.

How I did that, I'll never know.

So here, at the first rehearsal, the stage manager is showing me the ropes.

"This is your stand. You'll have the script with you," he instructs. I struggle to remember his name. David something? Yes, definitely David. He has a sister, I think, an annoying senior... Well, it doesn't matter. "We'll be on headset during all performances, so we can communicate. I'll be over there." He points to the stand on the opposite side of the stage. "Basically, your job is to help the actors with their props and microphones and alert me of any hitches. Any questions?"

"Do I get a megaphone?" David Something sighs, exasperated, and brandishes a high tech looking object.

"No. This is your headset." I take the headset, which looks like something out of Star Trek, and am about to ask David how to turn it on when I realize that he's gone. Stupid boys, always walking away from me. Fitting the headset snugly on my head, I flick a couple switches on and off. Nothing happens.

"In the town where I was born, lived a ma-a-aan who sailed the sea! And he told us of his life in the la-a-aand OF SUBMA-"

"Chelsea, these are expensive pieces of equipment. They're not for playing or singing Beatles songs," David's voice booms in my ear.

"BAH!" I shriek, startled. There's a beeping sound in my ear and David's annoyed tongue clicking is gone. Carefully, I take off the headset and place it on the stand.

Note to self: DO NOT play with the headset. Or David.

* * *

The buzz of the audience is muffled through the red curtain, but the sound makes me more nervous than I already am. I begin pacing with the rest of the cast backstage.

Jacques is mumbling to Celia about always messing up his first line on opening night if he doesn't wear his four leaf clover medallion underneath his costume. Celia just nods numbly, rubbing her hands over the fabric of her skirt mindlessly.

David warned me about actors being jittery on opening night. He didn't say anything about crew members being nervous.

While the cast runs over lines, jumps into costumes and makeup last minute and throws up in the dressing room sinks, David and I are taking out our nerves in other ways. My eyes scan over the props table every ten seconds and I keep doing and undoing the buttons on my black shirt. From here, I can see David opening and closing his water bottle obsessively. Ms Grenhem is running around like a mad woman, checking costumes, props, sets, lighting, and basically tearing the hair out of her head strand by strand.

The only person I can see who is not panicking or throwing up is Skittery. He's sitting calmly in the corner, already dressed and in makeup, reading a car magazine.

He absolutely amazes me.

"Cast! Do you have your microphones?" Ms Grenhem demands. Most of the cast gives her a thumbs up, aside from Skittery, who hasn't come to get his from me yet. I take the microphone from the stand, waving it in his direction. Seeing this, Skittery walks over to me. I try to hand it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"Would you mind putting this on for me?" he asks. "Five years of theatre and I still can't figure these things out." Nodding, I walk behind him and try to remember how I saw the others do it. First, I clip the base to the waist of his pants, making sure it won't slip. I take the tiny microphone in one hand and, taking a deep breath, I snake my hand under his shirt.

My hand in underneath Skittery's shirt.

If he notices me pause, he doesn't say a thing. Quickly, I clip the mic to his shirt collar and flick the on switch on the base with my other hand. The tiny light glows red.

"It's on," I inform him, withdrawing my hand from his shirt. "Giles in the lighting booth will turn up the volume in time for your first line."

Unexpectedly, he turns to face me. This wouldn't be a big deal if I wasn't still standing very close to him. Our noses are almost touching.

"Thanks," he says softly, adjusting the mic. He moves a little closer. Sweet Jesus, this is it. I hope I popped a mint after I ate that pizza. His hand is suddenly on my back. I instinctively close my eyes.

"Skittery! Run lines with me, will you?" My eyes pop open. Catherine, dressed in her Rosalind costume, is waving at Skittery. He closes his eyes, looking frustrated, mutters something under his breath and looks over his shoulder.

"Just a minute, Catherine!" he stage shouts. He turns back to me. "Thanks again, Chelz." I nod disappointedly.

"Break a leg."

I was this close.

_THISCLOSE_!

I can hear some muffled yelling coming from my stand, where my headset has been discarded. I haven't used it since the first rehearsal when David yelled at me for singing Yellow Submarine.

"Chelsea! Chelsea, put your headset on _right now!_ Chelsea!"

"Calm down, Dave, I'm here," I say, placing the headset on my head.

"Thank God," he says. "Don't _ever_ go off headset. What if I needed you for something? What if something went wrong?"

"David, what could _possibly_ go wrong that you would need me to take care of?"

"...The lid on my water bottle might get stuck?"

"Uh huh. Right. Well, I'll be sure to stay on headset for _that_."

"Okay, well, what if I needed to go to the bathroom and you had to cue the lighting?"

"You would never go to the bathroom during the show. I'm sure you've already gone and are planning on going during intermission."

"...Still! If there were an emergency!"

"Fine, I'll stay on. You're so neurotic, Dave."

"I am _not_ neurotic."

"Yes you are. It's a stage manager requirement. All stage managers must be uptight and neurotic."

"How would you know? This is your first show!"

"I've heard stories..."

"We're starting in one minute, you two. Tell the actors to take their places." Giles, lighting guy and chief set builder, interrupts us.

"Got it, G," I tell him, switching off my headset. "Cast! One minute to show time! Take your places!" The nerves seem to swell once again as the actors in the opening scene, Skittery and the guy playing Adam whose name I still do not know and probably never will, take their positions. I flick my headset back on.

"Well, Dave, my man, we did it. Here we are, opening night, and, after three months of rehearsals, we haven't killed each other."

"What an accomplishment."

"_I _think so."

"Well, after tonight, we've still got a couple performances to go. You never know what might happen."

"Yeah, I'll watch my back. Break a leg, big guy."

"Break a leg, Chelsea."

* * *

The first performance is a hit. Granted, there were a few problems, but that was to be expected. After all, every performance has it's screw ups, or so I'm told by the more experienced of us.

Some lines are forgotten (I take guilty pleasure in watching Catherine stumble over the lines in the scene Skittery and I auditioned with), cues are missed and props are misplaced. It wasn't the smoothest performance in the history of theatre, I'm guessing, but I still think it's a huge accomplishment that a bunch of teenagers memorized all that Shakespeare. It's no easy feat.

After the first performance is done, the rest fly by, with less and less mistakes every time. We seem to fall into a routine and by the end of the five day run, it feels like I've found a new home and family. I've finally found out the name of the guy who plays Adam (his name is Gary and he's pretty awesome. He can fit a whole toonie in his nose) and I've got a running bet with many of the guys (first girl to cry at the curtain call of the last show. My money's on Bethany). David's come to be my older brother who I tease mercilessly (but I love anyway, I guess) and Giles is just about the funniest guy I've ever met (he even cracks David up, and David has a strict 'no laughing during performances' rule). It's comfortable and fun and easy.

And if you're wondering: no, Skittery didn't come back, no, he didn't kiss me, no, he didn't wisk me away and no, we didn't live happily ever after. Apparently, after opening night, he learned how to put on his own mic and I've barely seen him since, just fleeting moments when we're rushing back and forth backstage.

But I'm not angry. I'm not bitter. It doesn't bother me one bit.

HE ALMOST KISSED ME AND STUPID CATHERINE GOT IN THE WAY!

All right, it's out of my system now.

"Look, Chelsea, it was just a play! Get over it!" Mush says, after my third day of moping about Skittery post-play. "You can do another one."

"That's not what I'm moping about, Mush," I say, crossing my arms.

"Oh my God, are you still on about Skittery? Look, he almost kissed you, but then he didn't. It's not a big deal!"

"Yes it is! I need to know if he was _actually_ going to kiss me, and, if so, how I can make this kiss happen!"

"Look, if he wants to kiss you, he'll find you and make it happen himself."

"Hey! Chelsea! Wait up!" I turn around to see Skittery jogging toward us. Mush nudges me in the arm. I elbow him back harder.

"Hey Chelsea. Can we talk?" I clear my throat nervously.

"Um...yeah, sure," I stutter. "Mush, do you wanna...?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." Mush turns down another road, which I know will take him home the long way. There's a brief silence between us.

"So, uh, I wanted to talk to you before, but - "

"Can I just say something?" Skittery interrupts. Before I have the chance to say anything, he grabs my hand, pulls me toward him and kisses me.

So...this is what it's like to kiss Skittery.

Wow.

"Any thoughts?" he asks, once we've stopped.

"Well said. Well said."

* * *

Drum da da dum! I'm done now!

I have to say: I downloaded that Penny and Me song and really liked it. Damn you, Hanson! Although, Taylor Hanson, or whoever sings lead really needs to work on his pronunciation. Oh, right. Disclaimer. How do I always forget that?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Newsies, as I'm sure you all know. I don't own Grease, or Hanson either. Oh, the character Frankie is based on my friend Kayla. And the reason she wanted to call her Baby because her name was Francis is because it's a Dirty Dancing reference. If you haven't seen it, I command you to see it now. As You Like It belongs to Willy Shakespeare. I think that's it.

Once more, happy birthday, Chelsea dearest!

newsiesmoseph


End file.
